


In Defense of the Indefensible

by Yeah_JSmith



Series: Lawyers AU [2]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Bellwether trial, Criminal Law, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Nick does his best, defense attorney Nick, demisexual Nick, except Dawn, prosecutor Judy, she can go die in a fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeah_JSmith/pseuds/Yeah_JSmith
Summary: After Jack Savage bravely gave his life to expose the conspiracy that almost destabilized the whole city, Nick Wilde defends Dawn Bellwether in court. He also meets the new prosecuting attorney, Judy Hopps, and the high-profile case will catapult both of them to heights they never expected.These are the defining moments, the type to make or break a case, a friendship, and even a career.





	In Defense of the Indefensible

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: I didn’t know a thing about law until I began writing this. I’ve done extensive research (including interviews), but I wouldn’t call myself an expert on anything. This is the story I work on from my phone, so of course I finished it on my road trip. Sorry if there are any formatting errors.
> 
> Things you will find in this: horrible clients, cynicism, lots of line breaks. Things you will not find in this: high-speed chases, relationships, Nick/Suffering. For real, guys, that’s the worst ship in the fandom and everybody effing ships it. Gtfoh. Nick deserves nice things.

It’s the case of the century, and Nick Wilde is so excited he could burst. Not that he cares for the defendant – Dawn Bellwether can choke on his baculum, for all he’s concerned – but this case isn't about the outcome, it’s about proving that prey and predators are truly equal in a court of law. Nick Wilde is barely a name on the door of the firm he helped build, but he’s a fox, which means Mayor Bellwether choosing him to defend her is a particularly ballsy political gambit on her part, not that he expected anything less. Sean Buckley and Peter Stripely, his friends from Scouts, have spent the last couple of days giving him a hard time, but their gig is easy. Sean does divorce and Pete chases ambulances. In the six years they’ve been practicing, neither of them have even seen a venire, not that either of them would make a jury demand anyway.

The other risky move is getting some no-name glorified intern fresh out of law school, Judy Hopps, to prosecute. Really this should be Gesa Klaue’s case, but she’s a _predator,_ and they don't want any suspicion of courtroom bias. They’re all predators in the DA’s office, and that’s certainly not by mistake; that’s the way it’s been since the justice system was really just champions dueling each other. Hopps, however, is prey. She graduated summa cum laude from Zootopia University’s P. Ruffstein College of Law, Nick’s own alma mater, but as enterprising as she clearly is – rumor has it she graduated high school at sixteen, took two and a half years to finish undergrad, and passed the bar at _twenty-two,_ and the timeline fits – she’s still green. She’s been crushed underfoot at the DA’s office for two years, probably smiling politely at “cute” jokes and being treated like the token bunny she is.

Hopps will win, but that's not the point. This whole thing is just for show anyway. Bellwether is guilty, and nothing outside of a solid conviction will soothe the pythons of war. That is, he assumes, why no plea deals have been sent to his office yet. Pretrial negotiations aren’t usually just a formality, but it’s possible that the Judge won't accept a settlement, and Dawn has yet to reply to his messages about how she wants to move forward.

At this point, as long as he meets his deadlines, Nick just has to follow the tide and pretend he cares enough to not get slapped with a malpractice suit, and his name will be everywhere that counts. Nick Wilde, defender of the indefensible, even when the accused is a scum-sucking terrorist who targeted his kind.

The sunlight through the window is anemic and cool, but he has a dedicated conference room in his office and Hopps has a cubicle at hers, so he agreed, through emails with Gesa, to meet in the dreariest part of Happytown, where his office is located. He’s been lazing in his spinny chair for half an hour, hoping to throw her off her game by pretending to be offended at her tardiness, when she breezes through the door holding a plastic travel mug in one paw and a thick brown briefcase in the other. Her suit is well-kept, if several years out of style, and she is immaculately groomed, but the dented mug says “WORLD’S OKAYEST GIRLFRIEND” and the briefcase looks ready to fall apart. This is a mammal who will not be intimidated by halfhearted methods, fresh meat or not. She probably always arrives exactly when she’s supposed to.

She eyes him suspiciously for a few moments and he pretends not to notice. Finally, she sets her briefcase on the table and says, “You must be Nicholas Wilde. It’s nice to meet you. I'm-”

“Judy Hopps, yes, I know. Everyone who’s anyone knows,” he jokes, standing and shaking her paw. She has a surprisingly strong grip, for a bunny. “There's never been a bunny lawyer before.”

“Yes, bunnies belong on _farms,”_ she says dryly, and he doesn’t flinch at the hidden accusation, but she’s not wrong about public perception. It’s just one of those things everyone takes for granted. “I do what I want, and will continue to do so. But first, we need to discuss the deal I have for Dawn Bellwether. You _did_ receive a copy, right?”

His ancestors used to eat hers, but the grin on her face and the spark in her eye make him feel, for an unsettling minute, like she’s about to chew him up and spit him out.

“It must have gone to my junk inbox,” he lies. “I keep meaning to call IT, but you know how it is.”

“Of course, Mr. Wilde. Very understandable. Now, I'm almost positive your client won't consider our deal, but the DA is feeling charitable enough to offer something I think you’ll find...um, agreeable.”

Not so composed after all, then. The twist on her muzzle tells him everything he needs to know about her feelings on the matter, and as much as he agrees with the sentiment, it’s his job to look after Dawn’s wellbeing. Even if it means showing her an _agreeable_ plea deal.

“I’ll have her look it over, if you’ll send me a new copy.”

“Oh, I have a hard copy here. You can have it. Talk it over with your client and get back to me when you have an answer and counter-offer. My cell number is written on that sticky note, by the way, and I'm usually up pretty late. You can call or text when you have an answer.”

“Ah,” he says, trying to mask his distaste. He’ll have to be more accommodating than he usually is, and tellingly, she has _not_ included an email address. “I’ll remember that.”

“I'm sure. After all, if you're on this job, you must be one of the best, especially since you've only been practicing for six years.”

He’s pretty sure he hates her.

* * *

Being held without bail, contrary to popular media, is not common. Dawn is not extremely well-off, but bail bondsmammals aren't exactly discriminatory, and there's enough media attention on her to minimalize the flight risk to nil. Her blue dress is pressed and clean, but Nick can tell she’s seen better days. It hangs loosely off her body and she’s making a valiant effort to hide her shaking, but she is _not_ the cool and collected mayor she used to be.

“We need to talk about the deal from the DA’s office,” he tells her, forcing himself into a nonthreatening slouch in his office chair. It’s been a long time since he’s felt the need to bow to prey, but he doesn't want to get accused of predatory intimidation. It wouldn't be career-ending, but it wouldn't help. “It’s a good one, Dawn. Probably the best, considering your situation.”

“My _situation.”_ She snorts. “You mean being falsely accused of _murder?_ You mean losing everything I've worked for? You mean not being able to walk down the street without being recognized and threatened – even by other prey? At this point, Nicholas, prison would be a welcome relief.”

“Well, that's inevitable either way. You're well-versed in politics. Juries are made up of mammals, mammals who have made up their minds, especially in a case like this. It doesn't matter that you didn't murder Jack Savage and Evangeline Konn. They’ll have to drop the illegal distribution charge, because you never sold anything. You’ll always have to defend against possession charges – Class III botanicals are restricted for a reason – and they can probably charge you with _conspiracy_ to commit murder, but at most, Savage’s death is mammalslaughter and Konn’s suicide is a tragedy brought on by grief. Hopps knows it. Commissioner Appleton knows it. You know it. That's why you chose to do it this way, right? By drugging Konn, you only indirectly caused Savage’s death. And none of the other mammals actually died. But the jury won't see it that way. They want blood. Hopps will paint you as a terrorist. An indiscriminate killer. You _had_ means and opportunity, and you might have lacked malice – premeditation – but there's more than enough on that recording to make you look guilty. Hopps will make the jury believe that Evangeline Konn was your murder weapon, or by extension all of your targets, and it’ll work, because that's what they _already_ believe. Is that what you want to be known for? Murdering innocent mammals?”

She considers him with a calculating gleam in her eye, something that bristles his tail. She admires him. Why? She hates predators. The video, Officer Savage’s last-ditch attempt at catching Dawn, has her on record saying…

...that 90% of the population needs a common enemy to fear. _Unity._ It has nothing to do with predators, does it? She could have chosen any small percentage and used anything, any trait. City transplants, with their outsider views, their backwards ways. Bunnies make up about ten percent of the city’s population, too, and arguably they have more reason to hate modern society than predators do. With the right spin, a nod to food politics, and a few mentions of _out of control breeding,_ they could be a great enemy. But claws and fangs are scary. Predators were an easy mark. He swallows his disgust at the realization that no, she doesn't hate predators. She’s afraid of them, certainly, but it wasn't hate that motivated her. It was _pragmatism._

She’s a monster.

“Can you answer a question for me, Nicholas? Why are you doing this?”

“Doing my job?”

“You're a pred. I would've darted you too, if you’d gotten in my way. You have no reason to care about little old me.”

He shrugs. He won't let her see how much she’s affecting him. “I believe in justice, Dawn. That's all. I believe that the system works if we have integrity. I respected you, once upon a time, so I’ll be candid with you: I think that what you did was _horrific._ What you did was risky and dangerous and if I weren't your attorney, I would be cheering for you to get maximum time. But when you retained me, it became my job to represent you, and I will work my tail off to get you the best results possible. If justice is not done, why bother having a system at all?”

She nods sharply. “I see. What is this deal that the DA has for me?”

He sits up a little, satisfied that he has secured her cooperation for now. It was a gamble, being honest, but he’s read her right after all. “They're willing to drop the distribution charge, reduce the murders to mammalslaughter and involuntary mammalslaughter, and reduce the possession charge to a misdemeanor in exchange for every detail you have on your suppliers, your associates, and your formulas. You'd spend a maximum of 20 years in prison for each death, with your sentences served concurrently and possibility of parole in 10.”

“I'm afraid I can't take that, Nicholas,” she says heavily. “I may not be a saint, but I do have ethics. Some of that is trade secrets I'm not allowed to tell. I won't comply with any terms that include giving away privileged information...making a counter-offer impossible. We both know they won't accept anything less.”

He blinks. What is her game? “You know they’ll prosecute you to the full extent of the law if you don't make a deal. Nobody likes going to court.”

“Please, child, I’ve got fifteen years on you. I was working for the DA when you were still learning about the golden thread,” she tells him, voice sharp and eyes narrow. “I know the stakes. You can tell _Judy Hopps_ to take her offer and deep throat it. Bunnies are good at that, as I'm sure half the males at the DA’s office already know.”

Nick remembers the smile that would've been _less_ unsettling if Hopps had had blood in her teeth, and tries not to dwell on the fact that she somehow already knew this would be the outcome. If she’s sleeping her way through the ranks, it’s for fun, not for promotions.

“I'm not willing to poke the cobra with _that_ charming little gem, but I’ll pass along your disinterest,” he tells Dawn, and kind of wants to hit something.

* * *

Ruth Wilde, once upon a time, was a brilliant grifter. Glamor and charm were her weapons before she had him, but eventually her style evolved to include her adorable underprivileged son. Free meals for the harried single mother. A month’s forgiveness from the landlord who had a soft spot for kits. Nick grew up learning to spot a mark, to pick the right pockets at the right times, and he considers his Scout troop to be a kind of salvation. Allowing him to join had been a set-up for a long con, for Ruth, but Nick had found a much-anticipated (and sorely needed) family in his fellow Junior Ranger Scouts, and when he ran away for the first time at twelve, Pete’s family housed him for the night and brought him home in the morning, pulling Ruth aside to ask her if she needed anything.

Ruth hated charity she hadn't stolen. Life changed, after that. Nick was no longer included in her cons, and until he started law school, they hardly lived on the same plane, though they lived in the same house. They did reconcile later. He’s not a monster, after all, and he is grateful to her for raising him, as...controversial as her methods might have been. They have tea on Sundays and they don’t talk about the past.

It’s Sunday, and Nick spots a bit more gray in her coat, a bit more milk in her eyes. She’s not healthy, but if he suggests seeing a doctor, she’ll probably avoid it out of spite, so he says nothing.

“I hear you took on the Night Howler case,” Ruth says with clear disapproval in her voice. As usual. She’s never really forgiven him for going straight, even though at her age she can see why it was the wise choice. Prospects for con artists aren’t great in this age of technology unless they pull online scams. Furthermore, _especially_ now that prey supremacy is associated with a disgraced politician and biological terrorist, opinions about predators are mostly high – at least the public ones – and it might not last, but it’s never going to be the same as it was when she was growing up. So long as there are mammals fighting, anyway, and that’s why he does what he does. It’s part of the fight.

“You know I can’t release confidential information, Mom,” he replies, trying not to let any frustration into his tone.

“It is a bad idea, Nicholas. If you defend a prey supremacist, you defend prey supremacy. You know what prey did to us. What they did to your father.”

“Okay, firstly, that’s a low blow. You know that it was a koala who pulled the trigger, but it was Mr. Big who ordered the hit. Secondly, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say I _did_ take the case. I wouldn’t be defending prey supremacy. I wouldn’t even be defending prey. I’d be defending _you._ I’d be defending _us._ I’d be defending the predators she darted and the loved ones her victims hurt. I’m the _better mammal_ here. In theory. I wouldn’t expect you to understand it – you always were only out for yourself – but this would never be about who she is or what she did. It’s about who _I_ am and what predators like us are capable of.”

“Oh, you’re still on about _empathy.”_ She snorts and waves her paw. “Equal representation. You play the cynic well, but you’re an optimist, and it’s going to destroy you. It’s going to take everything you care about and make it sick and ugly. Where is my son? Where is my sweet boy who knew what side he was on?”

He grips his teacup a little tighter and wonders why, if he’s such an _optimist,_ his heart isn’t broken. He knows the ills of society better than she does. He works with them daily. He gets plea deals for murderers and sex offenders and, yes, monsters like Dawn Bellwether, if he can manage it. He knows damn well that most of these degenerates deserve to rot. Dawn certainly does. It isn’t about defending the indefensible. It’s about being _willing_ to defend the indefensible.

Society can’t function without defense lawyers. It doesn’t matter how he feels about his clients (he mostly hates them) or his duties (he’s mostly exhausted) or his increasingly-arthritic paws (he takes the doctor’s warnings about excessive typing on his claws the same way he takes the doctor’s suggestion to stop eating so much takeout). Nick has always liked building things, whether it was derby cars for Scouts or his reputation in high school or an extensive information network in college. He’s building a name for himself as a respected and respectable attorney.

He’s barely a name on the door, but his name’s on the rutting door. Even now, that means something. Maybe it’s unfair, but his decisions are under constant scrutiny because he’s a fox. Species shouldn’t matter, but it does.

(And maybe he’s more like Ruth than he thought; he _is_ out for himself, after all. But he’s building himself up through upright and morally consistent actions, not hustling quick cash out of chumps. That means something too.)

“I’m on the side of justice,” he quips, and immediately regrets it. He sounds like Supercat on a bad day.

“Justice for whom?” Ruth’s snarling now. He feels like a kit who’s done something wrong. “You know if it had been a wolf in that sheep’s place, the police wouldn’t have arrested her. They would have gunned her down before asking any questions.”

“And that’s wrong. I’m not an idiot, Mom. I know there’s bias and prejudice and bigotry everywhere. That’s why she chose predators. We were an easy target _because_ of that prejudice. But you know what? I’m worth ten of her, and I’m a defense attorney. If she chose to retain me, I’d do my job. You think I _like_ hassling rape victims? You think I _like_ meeting with _any_ of my clients? I do it because I’m good at it, and because _someone_ has to do it, and because if it’s me, at least it’s not an _actual_ prey supremacist. So you can take your opinions and just...stop.”

It’s a lame finish, but at least it isn’t obscene, like his first choice of words.

“And you can get out of my house, Nicholas.” She points at the door angrily. “Until you come to your senses, you are not allowed to call yourself my son.”

It’s sad, he muses as he walks out of the house, that she ruined their relationship when he was just a kit. If they were closer, he might actually take her opinion under advisement.

* * *

The reality of being a defense attorney is much less glamorous than anyone really understands. 99 times out of 100, the client is guilty of at least one of the things they’ve been charged with, and about 60 percent the time, they’re guilty of everything. Nick works as a court-appointed defense lawyer, so although he has the right to refuse a private client, he cannot refuse an assigned case.

Unlike Dawn Bellwether, who likely chose him because of his sharp teeth and sharper mind, Malcolm Coates didn’t choose Nick and Nick isn’t enthused about representing him. Malcolm is the worst of the worst, a lowlife who’s been on the sex offender registry for a while now. He’s lived the kind of life that makes you sick. The problem with defending these mammals is that if Nick does his job right, they could (and almost always do) get reduced charges or a lesser sentence. If he _doesn’t_ do his job right, Nick will probably get disbarred. So despite his disgust at this repeat offender with an attitude and a string of unknown victims behind him, despite the fact that he’s got plenty of cases to deal with, despite the fact that the desk in his one-room apartment is overflowing with information on Dawn Bellwether and Jack Savage and Evangeline Konn, he has to make time for _this_ case, too.

That’s the other thing they don’t tell you in law school: at any given time, you’ll be handling a dozen or more cases. Lots more if you’re good enough to have a word-of-mouth reputation, or at least five-star Yip reviews.

“Listen,” says Malcolm, “I don’t know what I have to say to get this through your thick skull: you’re my lawyer. You’re supposed to help me. My last lawyer rutted me over. I’m on the registry! I want this gone.”

Nick suppresses the powerful need to snarl. _Professionalism,_ he reminds himself. How is it that the digestive system decides who’s a predator? Malcolm Coates is a hare, Nick is a fox, but only one of them hunts down and hurts other mammals. “Malcolm, I will do what I can for you, but I’m not a miracle worker. They have DNA evidence collected at the hospital. They have photos. The scratch on your cheek matches the wounds the victim gave her attacker-”

“Yeah, _she_ attacked _me!_ I’m not the one with claws; she’s the one who should be talking to you. Maybe you’d be more willing to defend a fellow _pred.”_

Right, because a seventeen-year-old polecat is _so_ dangerous to a protected-class species twice her size. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before saying, “I understand that you don’t want to compromise, but I want you to listen carefully: if we don’t settle this outside of court, the judge will be _very_ annoyed with you, and when you’re convicted – because you _will_ be convicted – your sentencing will be the maximum. That’s how this works. I’m an attorney, not a miracle worker. I can’t force you to accept what Gesa Klaue is offering, but as your attorney, I’m advising you to do so. For your own sake.”

“You’re supposed to be _good.”_

“I am good,” Nick tells his client from behind a thick wall of frost. There’s no use in being genial with a guy like this. “I’m very good. And if we go to trial, I will do my best to create reasonable doubt. But I can’t change the laws to get you out of this.”

 _Nor would I want to,_ he doesn’t say. Clients like these are very trying.

“I know you’re defending Mayor Bellwether,” says the hare. “I just saw her leave your office.”

“I can’t say if I am or am not defending any individual,” Nick replies neutrally.

“So if you can get her out of what she did, why can’t you get me out of what I – didn’t do?”

“Once again, Malcolm, my job is to defend against specific charges. No mammal gets charged with a crime on hearsay alone. There is _evidence_ that we can’t ignore just because it’s inconvenient. Please work with me here on a counter-offer. I’m trying to help you come out of this with some kind of future.”

“But why bother negotiating if I’m just going to end up in jail anyway? Do you know what it’s _like_ in there?”

“No, I don’t, because I’ve kept my nose clean. I don’t even jaywalk. You know what I _did_ do? I went to law school so that I could sit in this seat, across from you, and do what I could to keep you from languishing in prison for the rest of your life. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine. You are more than welcome to try to represent yourself in court. Otherwise, I’m it – your line of defense.”

“Well maybe I’ll just request a new lawyer.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you want me to make a deal!”

Nick has to breathe again. He defends stupid mammals all the time, but this one is getting out of paw. “You have the right to a public defender. You have been assigned to me. Now, unless I’m violating the law or mistreating you, the Court won’t hear your request.”

Malcolm snorts. “I can tell them whatever I want. You’re a fox. They’ll believe me.”

“You’re probably right,” Nick says, sighing heavily. Speciesist attitudes don’t always surface in this office, but when they do, it’s always in the form of threats. “Except, of course, you would need evidence of whatever you think you could convince the Court about me, and you have a history of doing this to your attorneys. Would you like to explain to the Commissioner why my case is different from the three other times you’ve tried?”

“...I…”

“I do have your best interests at heart. At least consider the offer. We have about fifteen more days to respond.”

Cripes. If he had known being an attorney would be an advanced form of babysitting, he’d have gone into something easy, like aerospace engineering. Or neurosurgery.

* * *

After leaving six messages with the harried receptionist before getting told that Hopps’ phone extension isn’t working, Nick decides to call her cell, as she suggested. He thought about texting her, but it seems discourteous, and this case is too important to piss her off just for fun. He’s not sure how to talk to the little rabbit, because Gesa Klaue is as unshakeable a mammal as he’s ever seen, but Hopps is an unknown.

“This is Judy,” she answers after two rings.

“Hi, this is Nick Wilde. I’m calling about-”

“Dawn Bellwether,” she says, some kind of gleeful note in her voice. “What have you got for me, Mr. Wilde?”

“You can call me Nick,” he tells her.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Mr. Wilde.”

It’s appropriate enough. Everybody drops the formalities eventually. This is probably her first time handling a case by herself, but she _has_ been a licensed attorney for a couple of years. It’s a little cute, not that he’d ever consider saying that to her _face._ “All right then, Ms. Hopps. You were right; my client would rather not take the deal. Or any deal at all.”

“I figured as much.”

“I do have some concerns about the facts of the case, though,” he presses gently. Something has been itching in the back of his mind since the whole thing came out. “It’s about Chief Bogo.”

“He’s next on my list,” she returns darkly.

“Right. So you see the problem too.”

“Well, it’s not really _relevant_ to our case, but...I have no idea what he was thinking, sending Officer Savage out alone.”

Nick tries not to laugh. “How long have you been in Zootopia, Ms. Hopps?”

“Eight years now. Why?”

“I just...it’s not a comment on you, but I’ve never met a mammal who believes bunnies are capable of much. A rabbit cop would be a joke. I imagine that Chief Bogo was thinking a high-risk, high-profile case would make Officer Savage resign. I don’t know the guy, but I can’t imagine that he expected Savage would die. Still, it’s been bothering me. It _isn’t_ relevant to this case, but I’d feel better knowing that _something_ will be done.”

“I hope so. This is my only case, and I wouldn’t tell you any known details even if I could, but it seems stupid to let it pass. If nobody bothers to look into this blatant speciesism – you’ve seen the body cam footage, you saw how he treated Officer Savage and his civilian consultant, Ms. Konn – I might start a petition or something.”

“Maybe you and I can talk after this case is over. Touch base, as it were.”

She laughs. It’s a nice laugh, not a good match for the shark grin she wore when they met. “Mr. Wilde, I’m not going to be your ally on the inside. But if it really doesn’t go anywhere, I’ll let you sign my petition.”

“It was worth a try,” he jokes.

“Try everything,” she agrees, and he’s pretty sure he’s heard the phrase before, but he can’t remember where. He really needs to get out more.

* * *

Employment is often a word-of-mouth affair at Buckley, Stripely, and Wilde, partly because Pete’s usually in charge of placing ads and partly because they have a history of hiring disenfranchised mammals. Word tends to get around when 70% of the workforce is made up of foxes and on-the-job training is provided. Unfortunately, this time, he had to place an ad, and it’s fallen to his case manager to pick up the slack. Jenny, the case manager in question, is a vixen just a little younger than he is. Flirty, apparently, although Nick isn't sure Sean isn't just messing with him. Objectively attractive. And very, very pushy.

“Nick, I can't do my job unless you do yours,” she says, stopping him from walking out the door and waving her planner in his face. For some reason, even though they have a perfectly functional system with a shared calendar, she insists on using a paper day planner. “I'm already drowning in apps here. A little _rabbit_ came in here today to turn in her résumé! A _rabbit!_ I can't take care of sorting through this stuff if you're not even looking over the motions I send you!”

“Yeah, Jenny, I get it. I'm swamped too,” he replies, feeling the urge to scream. He was _so close_ to getting out of the office on time for once. “Unless you'd rather trade places and do my job while _I_ churn out court docs, you'll have to be patient. I trust your judgment, and anyway, you should get a say in who you work with. Give me the best five applicants and put interviews on my calendar.”

“That’s not what I’m asking for. I’m asking for your cooperation so that we don’t get sued for malpractice.”

He looks her over. She is incredibly efficient, the kind of competent that you would only expect from a paralegal who never went to school for it, and he would never fire her, but she knows that and it makes her bold. He doesn’t think she means to be disrespectful – he hired her to manage cases, and if that means managing him as well, it only goes to show that he _needs_ a case manager – but the differences between writing documents and being an attorney are large and vast. She’s learning the difference, now that he’s giving her more responsibilities, but…

Well, to be perfectly honest, he probably needs her to not change a thing. Inconvenient as it is, he needs someone to kick his rear on occasion.

“All right,” he says, sighing. Looks like he’ll be working late again.

“I’ll, uh...I’ll bring coffee tomorrow,” she offers with a sympathetic smile. “See you in the morning, Nick.”

“See you,” he echoes, and retreats into his office. A small, petty part of him wants to hire the rabbit, just so that Jenny will have to work with them.

You really don't see bunnies in law, which is why Judy Hopps is so impressive, and why Jack Savage would have been a game-changer. Nick hates that he bought into it just like everyone else. What does it say about him that he could grow up worrying about his safety – and the safety of his prey friends, when they hung out with him – but he failed to look past stereotypes as soon as it was convenient? That...bothers him on a level deeper than he wants to admit.

And with Hopps on the brain (this case is where it always ends up, isn't it?), he’s worried about the choice he will eventually have to make about Evangeline Konn.

There's no polite term for “amateur porn star,” but her camera work was nothing to scoff at. Her videos – the ones he had to watch for research purposes, because that wasn't the sort of thing he felt comfortable delegating to Jenny – featured mostly mildly-sexual bondage and discipline sessions, tasteful camera angles putting controlled violence on display, and it would be so easy to pick at her character. Portray her as prone to savage behavior. _Are we really sure she was darted? Maybe she just felt like tearing him apart and took the first opportunity._ She deserves better than that; she’s a hero, after all. But keeping her profession out of the snarl of Dawn’s conspiracy isn't what's good for his case.

Nobody would look down on him for not pursuing that angle. It's possible even Dawn hasn't thought of it; she’s used to coming at a problem from the other side, and she’s been out of the game for years. But Nick doesn't like the thought of doing this halfway. He can't let his feelings get in the way of the case. And he’s got a lot of unresolved feelings about this case.

Konn’s final video is burned into his brain. It haunts him when he least expects it. One of them, Savage or Konn, had the idea to live stream it to her site. Savage, looking haggard and terrified, opens the video, talking about how they uncovered a conspiracy involving a toxic plant called Midnicampum holicithias, colloquially known as Night Howler, and they're being followed. They don't know who to trust, so they're trusting her followers to see justice done “just in case.” The phone, set to record video from a cranny in the pit of the Natural History Museum, shows Konn and Savage pretending to hide from their pursuers...and after a clever bit of dialogue tricking Dawn into revealing her plan…

It’s good that Nick compartmentalizes so well. He dreams of Jack Savage’s screams sometimes, the sound of ripping flesh and wet, enthusiastic chewing. He wakes up in the morning and pretends he didn't dream at all. Jenny, who insisted on watching the video with him because it “couldn't be that bad,” isn't nearly as good at keeping things separate. Or keeping her food down during what amounts to a snuff film, for that matter. She won't even touch the Bellwether case, and he can't blame her.

(That's the other reason he’s been so indulgent with her lately. She’s as ticked at him as Ruth is. There's a possibility she could quit over this.)

Nick frowns. He’s supposed to be working on finding a suitable assistant and instead he’s looking at the crime scene photos. Again.

This case is going to take over his life, isn't it?

* * *

Depositions are hell, but at least the one for Dawn’s case was short and sweet. There's no way he’s letting her take the stand, and the Court ruled that the viewers of the live stream don't count as witnesses; the only reliable potential witnesses came from the ZPD. Nobody else came forward except the poisoning victims, and their testimony is unreliable even by witness testimony standards.

In his more frustrated moments – like this one – he imagines the look of outrage that must have crossed Hopps’ face when she read _that_ conclusion, and feels a million times better about whatever’s going on.

In this case, listening to Autumn Fangworthy relive her attack. Nick and Gesa haggled and bared their teeth and eventually came up with a deal that seemed to be satisfactory, but after reviewing the case, the Court declined to accept the settlement. Judge Prongs is a dik-dik, and in private moments Nick has lamented that he’s a giant dick just to play to themes, but it’s not an unfair decision. Just an annoying one. At least Judge Prongs isn’t _here._

Witness testimony in these cases never gets easier. Sometimes Nick believes that irrespective of species, animals are just ugly on the inside, prone to harm and intermammalian violence. How else can their justice system be explained? If animals were inherently good, Nick would be broke.

“And he asked me if I was looking for a party,” says Autumn (Fangworthy, not Autumn, don’t get invested, Nick), twisting her paws around each other.

Nick swallows and plays the professional. “Did you, at any time, get the feeling that he meant you any harm?”

“No! I wouldn’t have gotten into his car otherwise! I thought we were going to the same party. I had no idea he was so much older, he was so _cute-”_

Fangworthy covers her mouth with her paws. Gesa winces. Nick wishes this were over already. “So you thought he was cute.”

“Not that way, he just...didn’t look...dangerous?”

Fangworthy has lost steam though, in the face of her misstep, and Nick has to press his advantage. “So you thought my client was cute, you didn’t see him as a threat, and you had a pleasant car ride up until the incident. Have I got that right so far?”

“You make it sound like “the incident” was an argument about homework, or like we fought because I hit on his boyfriend, but it wasn’t. He r – he, he – he r – he _hurt_ me, okay? It doesn’t _matter_ whether I felt safe or not, because I _wasn’t_ safe, and you don’t just get to pretend that it didn’t happen!”

“I am quite sure that sexual relations did, in fact, take place. There is ample physical evidence. My client does not deny this. I am simply trying to determine whether it was unwanted on your part, or you’re simply ashamed of having slept with a _cute_ bunny.”

Six years ago, Nick wanted to do some good. He was so sure that criminals got wrongly convicted much more often than statistics show, and he wanted to be that last line of defense. These days, mostly he just feels like a sleaze and thinks about how nice it would be to be drinking a blueberry martini, anywhere but here.

* * *

Hopps, Nick realizes, is fastidious. He can tell by the quality and content of her work that she's doing the entirety of this case on her own; she has no paralegal helping her, no assistant writing emails, nothing. She must be a real control freak. Her court documents are worded impressively and structured in such a way that she must be using templates, but the writing is very clearly hers. He can imagine the words coming straight out of her mouth.

Some things about this don't add up, like her reluctance to communicate through email even though she took the case three months ago and her seeming endless availability (surely she’s working other cases as support), but Nick has always thrived on social interaction, so it is actually kind of nice to meet face-to-face with the opposition for a change.

“Good morning, Mr. Wilde,” she says as she walks into his conference room, waving her dented travel mug. Her voice is grating this early in the day.

“It really isn’t,” he grumbles in response.

“What really isn’t what,” she asks curiously, and then – oh God, that’s too adorable to handle at stupid o’clock – hits her forehead with her paw. “Right. Not a morning animal, I take it?”

“Barely made it through law school,” he agrees, because it’s not like that’s a secret. Oh, he got near-perfect grades, but if you asked him to recount most of his professors’ names, he wouldn’t be able to, and his only saving grace was the structure of law school in general.

It’s not about the law. It never has been. Law exams are judged by the _correctness_ of the answer, not whether or not the answer is correct. Two conflicting answers can both be correct; one answer is just _more correct_ than the other. As long as you know how to anticipate which kind of correctness the exam is looking for (and it’s always there, in the way the question is written), you can pass any law exam in your sleep.

The bar exam is another story, but he got to take _that_ one in the afternoon. It worked out after all.

“You could have argued for a different time,” she tells him, “but let’s have our meeting now. You made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. Or not, in this case.”

Nick tries not to groan. “That was a horrible joke, and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that, Mr. Wilde. Okay. You said that Ms. Bellwether didn’t want to accept our offer, but you haven’t filed a counter-offer yet, so is it safe to assume the answer is still no to the idea of one?”

“Yeah, it’s safe to assume.” He raps his claws against the wood of his conference table, watching her. It’s funny; usually small prey are uncomfortable in his presence, but she seems not to notice that he is what he is. It’s both relieving and suspicious. He wonders how badly she’d flinch if he smiled with all of his teeth. “Anyway, the deadline is long past. What do you really want?”

“I’m required by law to share evidence with you,” she says, shrugging, as though he hasn’t caught her trying to do something sneaky. “This is, ah, delicate information, so I didn’t feel comfortable sharing it with you through email.”

“Our servers are both secure.”

“Yes, well. I’m still using zmail, unfortunately. I’m sure IT will fix my account soon, but in the meantime…”

He wants to ask why they haven’t made it a priority, considering how high-profile this case is, but that’s none of his business, and anyway, at least if he has a meeting with her he can take a break from interviewing criminals.

“Okay, hit me.”

“Not today, Mr. Wilde,” she says with a softer smile than he expected. It looks good on her. Less bloody, metaphorically, and more like a mammal who’s just told a joke. “We’re calling Chief Bogo in for a deposition. You’ll have time to prepare, of course. I have some cursory statements here in this folder, and I have bodycam footage from the scene of the crime. It took some time to get it, but I think it’ll kick off an IA investigation.”

The sudden smugness in her grin makes him wonder if she’s always been this insufferable. Not that he can’t sympathize; Bogo was out of line, and it’s partly his fault that Savage and Konn are dead. Whatever IA decides, there will be much more scrutiny on the Chief of Police, at least for a while. Maybe it will force him to understand, or at least think about, the _point_ of the Mammal Inclusion Initiative.

Or maybe it will only make him bitter and even _more_ resentful of small applicants. Either way, this isn’t good for him.

“That’s good news.”

“I think so too. Ms. Klaue doesn’t, but she just doesn’t like change. Mr. Wilde, off the record, can I ask a favor?”

“Depends on the favor,” he says warily. He’s been asked for plenty of favors before, most of them too shady to even pretend to consider. It’s one of the downsides of being a fox in a position of relative power. Everyone expects him to be some kind of crook.

“I can’t exactly go after him,” she explains, tracing shapes on her thigh beneath her form-hugging skirt. Nick’s beginning to realize she doesn’t own anything newer than 2006, so all these suits probably belonged to her mother, or – if she has one – an older sister. She’s either paying off crushing student loans or clueless about how that makes her look to her colleagues. She looks up and catches his eye, and there’s that shark-like grin again. “Not only would it be unprofessional, but I think Ms. Klaue might blow a gasket, leaving me out of a job after this is over. But _you_ can. You can grab him by the horns and drag him through the dirt. I would be grateful if you did so. More than grateful.”

Is that it? _That’s_ the favor she’s asking for? Professionalism? “You’re asking me to do my _job._ What kind of shady fox do you think I am?”

“What do you mean, shady – I’m not asking you to do your job, I’m asking you to be brutal in this deposition. This isn’t the same as a regular witness, Mr. Wilde. It’s dangerous to deviate, especially when the subject is the Police Chief. You could make yourself some enemies if you push too hard. You…” She closes her eyes and breathes. “It’s completely unfair of me to ask you to risk yourself like that. Everybody in law enforcement and politics has a little bit of sway in the system, and...if you don’t want to do it...I won’t think any less of you. I just, you know, I assumed that you had lots of...I don’t know the word I’m looking for, but nobody would even touch this case unless they believed in justice even when justice isn’t fair.”

And now he doesn’t know whether to be insulted or pleased at the compliment. He doesn’t think she’s suggesting he’s a coward or lazy, but on the other paw, overestimating his commitment to the vague ideal of “justice” can get her into trouble. She’s new, so it’s possible that she hasn’t considered what could go wrong if he deviated too far. Instead of keeping the attention on Dawn, he could transfer it at least in part to Bogo. _It’s not a secret that the Police Chief hated Officer Savage and didn’t trust any fox, especially a vixen. He sent Officer Savage out alone to solve a dangerous case in an unreasonable amount of time with no resources to speak of. How do we know that he wasn’t in on it? In fact, how do we know he wasn’t giving the orders? There’s a reason Dawn declined to share the names of her associates; he could crush her like a bug, and he has access…_

Spin. It’s a powerful tool. Of course, he was already planning a similar spin, but if Dawn gets off because Bogo’s behavior creates reasonable doubt, Hopps will never forgive herself. Not that he _cares,_ exactly, but he knows what it’s like to be the new guy. It’s got to be even worse in the snake pit that is the DA’s office. Plus…

He doesn’t want Dawn to get off. He wants her to rot in prison forever. It’s only professional pride, and a belief that the system can work if enough mammals contribute honestly to it, that keeps him thinking like a defense attorney.

“I’ll be as brutal as I can,” he says, and doesn’t mention that “can” is a subjective word. He’ll do enough dragging to make Bogo _feel_ it, but keep it within the bounds of reason.

Hopps is an odd one. She’s asking him to potentially derail her case. She knows she shouldn’t be asking, because she made it clear that this is a _favor._ But she didn’t flinch when she was asking, and she seems secure in her request. Sincere, too. He tries it out, smiles with all of his teeth, and she surprises him again; she only smiles back.

“Thank you, Mr. Wilde.”

“You’re welcome.” He hesitates, and then adds, “How many jurors do you think will puke when we show the video of the Natural History Museum?”

“Oh, at least one. That poor vixen. She was harmed the most by all of this.”

“She _ate_ Jack Savage,” he says, nonplussed. “I’d say _he_ was harmed the most.”

Hopps cocks her head. “Well, yes, but it was over in an instant. It’s not like he suffered. He had no living family anymore, and according to reports, he was a loner, so his death was a tragedy, but realistically it didn’t hurt hardly anyone. Evangeline, though...she had her memories when she came to. Her career was ruined – nobody would be able to watch her videos anymore without remembering _that_ one – and she had to live with the knowledge that she killed her dear friend. The other victims could at least have the comfort of knowing that the mammals they hurt while under the influence were alive. Evangeline told me, before she shot herself, that she could still feel Jack moving inside of her.”

Nick wonders if Hopps knows there are two ways to take that statement, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he says, “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“I want justice for her.” Hopps’ gaze turns surprisingly fierce. “Dawn Bellwether pulled the trigger; you and I both know that. We _saw_ it. But if it weren’t for Chief Bogo’s bigotry, Jack Savage wouldn’t have been out there alone, and Evangeline Konn wouldn’t have been dragged into this conspiracy. As far as I’m concerned, they’re both to blame for what happened that day in the museum.”

“Noted,” he says, Hopps’ words echoing through his head. It’s not good for her case, or her career, to go on a crusade like this, but she’s not wrong. Legally, her favor is questionable, but morally, her request is the right move. Nick wonders if he was ever this idealistic, and whether he’s smiled that big in his entire life. Probably not. Hopps may be fastidious and professional on paper, but his first impression of her was right: she’s the kind of mammal who can, and will, eat anyone alive if they get in her way.

Again, he thinks it isn’t fair that the digestive system determines who is classified as predator and prey. Next to this anaconda of a bunny, even the fiercest jaguar is still just dinner.

* * *

Amelia Black is a bright, focused rabbit who idolizes Judy Hopps and has a fancy paralegal studies degree. Meanwhile, Solomon Rose is an equally bright (but less qualified) ocelot who has plenty of experience in law. The two are his most promising applicants, and the choice is difficult. On the one paw, it would be beneficial for Jenny to learn how to work with a species she can’t stand, but on the other, he wants to keep her happy. Amelia can bring education to the table, which would mean less time spent training her, but Solomon has real-world knowledge, which is something that can’t be taught in college.

Why did he agree to open a practice, again? It would be so nice to _not_ have to make these decisions. He could just do his job and take home a paycheck instead of worrying about hiring. And keeping the lights on. And paying rent.

“Dude, just pick one already,” Pete says through a mouthful of breadstick. Ostensibly this is a business lunch, which means it’s a nice tax write-off, but Nick, Pete, and Sean discuss work whenever they hang out anyway. It’s the downside to opening a practice with your two best friends. They stopped making normal jokes and reliving their childhood shenanigans somewhere in their second year of law school, and now, all of their conversations include work. As coworkers, they’re allowed to discuss their cases – which _is_ one of the upsides of opening a practice with your best friends – but still, sometimes it’s hard not to miss the easy camaraderie they established back in Scouts.

“How do you even know I’m thinking about that,” Nick asks irritably. It’s not that he’s irritated with Pete, but he’s irritated with everything.

“I know that look. Like you want to bite somebody.” The zebra grins at him over the table. “It’s hot. You should see what Jenny thinks of the idea.”

“I swear to every god that probably doesn’t exist, I have no idea why I put up with you,” Nick laments.

Sean swallows – _thankfully –_ before saying, “Not that I enjoy agreeing with this crude bastard, but it’s not a bad idea. You’re losing fur, and Jen keeps glaring at you when you’re not looking. What did you do, anyway?”

“Why do _I_ have to have done anything?”

“Because Jenny is as sweet as pie, and you’re a dick,” says Sean, and Nick can’t even say anything in defense. Mostly because he doesn’t show much to the world. Everyone on the outside, even his best friends, have the idea that he’s unflappable, when the truth is, he’s anything but. Everything gets to him, which is why it’s so important that he never let them see. It’s a little lonely, sometimes, but that’s fine. He may thrive on social interaction, but it doesn’t have to _mean_ anything. Even these weekly business lunches are a little bit too intimate for comfort.

“I took on _that_ case,” he says, instead of explaining what’s actually on his mind. “I can’t really blame her for being pissed, but sleeping with her wouldn’t solve anything, it would make things _worse._ And it’s unprofessional.”

 _And I don’t want to sleep with her_ is what goes unsaid. He’s never had the desire for that sort of relationship. Even when he was actively dating, he never got that far, either because his partners found out that he was married to his studies (and therefore flaky in his private life) or because it got far enough that physical intimacy was a topic of discussion and he couldn’t commit to it. The unpleasantness of organic mess aside, going to bed with someone seems like a waste of time.

Pete frowns thoughtfully. Nick’s closer to Pete than he is to Sean, partly because Sean was a bit prejudiced when they met but also because Pete is irrepressibly honest, which means Nick can trust him when he says they’re friends. “It’s not like I’m comfortable with that either, but I think you’re probably the best mammal for the job. Surely she understands that.”

Nick shakes his head. “You’re thinking like a lawyer. Evangeline Konn was a vixen, and that’s what mammals are going to remember. Especially predators. I’m good at compartmentalizing those little details, but Jenny never had to. She doesn’t like any of my clients, but this is...this is bigger than some idiot holding up a convenience store or a scumbag who beat on her husband. It’s – well, to you and me, it’s the same thing, only to a different degree. To someone like Jenny, it’s different. She hates it when I take on sex crime cases, too. She’s _not_ a lawyer.”

“What Dawn Bellwether did was disgusting,” says Sean, “but even she deserves representation.”

Nick shrugs and takes a bite of his fruit salad to buy himself some time. He wants to phrase this correctly, because it’s not their fault they don’t really understand, but this conversation has to happen sometime. He takes a breath and explains, “Put yourself in her footprints for a minute. You’re not a zebra or a beaver; you’re a fox. Not just a predator, but the lowest of them all-”

“But that’s not _true,”_ protests Pete.

Nick shakes his head. “No, maybe not, but socially – according to public perception – _historically –_ that’s what mammals say. You know it. You’ve heard it. You’ve punched a mammal for saying it. We’re all too smart to pretend prejudice isn’t a real and present threat. So you’re a fox, and you hear about another fox who got drugged by a government official who resorted to biological terrorism to promote her prey supremacist agenda. And then you hear that this same fox, in her grief, shot herself. You’re really happy that this case is going to be prosecuted instead of swept under the rug, but then your boss loses his mind and agrees to represent the mammal who caused the deaths of two mammals, one of them a vixen, and the maiming of countless others. How do you feel? Like your boss isn’t just betraying you, but betraying his entire species.”

“But it makes you above reproach,” Sean argues. “You’re going to kill it in the courtroom, like you tend to do, and nobody will be able to say there was any species bias. Isn’t that why they’re getting that bunny girl to prosecute the case in the first place?”

“Sure, but – and this is what I think everybody’s been avoiding thus far – _when_ we lose the case, because that’s inevitable, plenty of mammals who agreed with Dawn’s cause will say that I lost on purpose. That’s the risk I’m taking on, and I’d rather have a somewhat unsavory reputation for a while than let her find another prey supremacist to represent her, but no matter what I do, it looks to Jenny like I’m a big traitor.”

“Scat, I didn’t even think of that.” Sean and Pete exchange a look Nick recognizes as the _Save Nick from Himself_ look, which usually ends in excessive booze. Normally he’d leave them to their plotting, but he doesn’t have time for bar hopping and he’s getting too old for it anyway. He’s not quite middle aged yet, but 32 is nothing to sneeze at.

“It’s going to be fine,” Nick assures them, and he wishes he could assure himself. “Jenny will come around eventually. On her own time, not because of any sketchy bedroom activities.”

“For scat’s sake, sex isn’t _sketchy,”_ says Pete, throwing his hooves in the air.

The subject is changed, but Nick knows this is firmer ground. He’s already feeling a little bit lighter after explaining the situation, and sure, he hasn’t hired anyone yet, but he’s pretty sure what needs to be done.

* * *

Idris Bogo is a large mammal. Nick has plenty of experience with large mammals, but he always has a moment of intense fear whenever he steps into the same space as someone this big and imposing.

How did Jack Savage ever stand up to this giant? How did Evangeline Konn manage to be flippant and genuinely _angry_ standing in his presence? Clearly, they were both either very brave or very stupid.

Nick doesn’t want to depose Chief Bogo, but it’s his job. Not that he thinks Bogo will actually hurt him, but the little part of his brain dedicated to fear response is definitely urging him to flee. Is that speciesist? It seems speciesist. Bogo can’t help his size, any more than Nick can help his teeth. But he _can_ help being a bigoted piece of trash, so that helps. Nick can focus on that. Size – species – that sort of thing is irrelevant right now.

“What I want to know,” says Nick, “is what was going through your mind when you sent Officer Savage out alone.”

“Savage was a meter maid with delusions of grandeur,” says the buffalo dryly, as though he’s said this a million times before. Maybe he has. It’s not unheard of for cops to prep themselves for questions they know are coming, with or without the urging of the prosecutor. “The case was unsolvable, or so we thought. What was going through my _mind_ was that Savage would do some police work without getting in the way of real officers, thereby satisfying us both. I never in a million years expected he’d stumble onto – _this.”_

“According to records, though, Jack Savage was top of his class at the ZPA. That sounds like a real officer to me. Why was he assigned parking duty when his considerable talents could have been used elsewhere?” Nick smiles, showing a bit of fang. Just for fun. “For that matter, you didn’t answer my question. Why did you send your most promising rookie out _alone_ with no resources?”

“Oh, don’t insult me, Wilde. Savage was a _bunny._ We couldn’t afford to waste resources on someone who _wasn’t an asset._ It was his choice to pursue the leads he did and it was his choice not to call it in when he should have.”

“Was he wrong, though?” Nick’s smile turns positively predatory. He shoots a glance at Hopps, who looks like she’s trying not to laugh. The little scat is _enjoying_ this. “According to the bodycam footage that took your department so long to release, you berated him in front of your other officers _and_ a civilian. Your speciesist comments very probably contributed to _Officer_ Savage’s decision not to trust you with the information he uncovered.”

“Obj-” Hopps coughs and schools her expression. Nick doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. “Objection. Relevance?”

“Counselor,” says the bored Commissioner.

“Apologies, Commissioner Appleton,” Nick says insincerely. “Let me rephrase. Officer Savage didn’t trust you, the Chief of Police, with crucial information about a terrorist plot. Why do you think that is?”

“Because he was an idiot,” says Bogo, “and so was I. I didn’t trust him to do the job he was hired to do, but that doesn’t make my decisions unsound. They were the wrong decisions, I’ll grant you, but in my place, what would you have done? What would anyone have done? A bunny cop is not an asset, he is a liability. He’s statistically more likely to get stepped on than to solve a case. I won’t apologize for doing what I thought was right for the city and for my officers.”

“My client’s reluctance to share the names of her associates is worrisome,” Nick says, offhand, fully expecting Hopps to object... _but she doesn’t._ He has to continue now. “Combined with Officer Savage’s distrust and your clear disdain for small mammals, that paints a very specific picture. What was your involvement in the alleged plan for the city?”

“I was called in to keep peace when half the city was protesting and a quarter of that half was devolving into physical violence. Dawn Bellwether asked me to do my job and keep my officers in line. As far as anyone knew, _including_ me, she was reacting to the state of affairs, not orchestrating them.”

Well, Nick didn’t expect Bogo to incriminate himself, since everyone knows he wasn’t really involved. Well, everyone’s reasonably certain. It’s possible, but not plausible; after all, half of Bogo’s officers are predators. If he was really a prey supremacist, he’d only have enough predators on the force to satisfy the diversity requirements. Still, Nick has to ask. “Did you agree with the aims my client claimed to be working toward?”

There’s incriminating evidence on the video, but even that isn’t enough for a conviction. Plenty of mammals do terrible things under duress. This isn’t an angle Nick can pursue for very long, but he still has to try. Not for Dawn’s sake, but for his own sake. For Hopps’ sake. For Jack Savage and Evangeline Konn and anybody else who was hurt by Bogo’s decision to let his biases get in the way of his judgment.

Bogo looks at Nick like he’s slime, which is pretty flattering, all things considered. “Of course not. I made a bad call in regards to case assignments, but I would never agree with terrorism. That’s abhorrent.”

“I have no more questions,” says Nick, reasonably satisfied. This will go on the record, and when Bogo is called to testify in court, he’d better say the same damn things in front of twelve jurors, the Judge, the steno, and cameras. It’s not an implication, or an admission of guilt, but that won’t matter to the court of public opinion.

Hopps gives the room at large a gentle smile. As she stands up to question Bogo, Nick shudders and thinks of blood in the water.

* * *

After getting to know her, Nick is...well, _skittish_ is too strong a word, but it’s not incorrect. Nervous, maybe. Nick is nervous around Dawn, and not just because she thought drugging predators to force them to attack other private citizens was a right and good thing to do. She wears her crime like armor – or maybe carries it, like a weapon – and seems not to feel guilt. In fact, she seems far more annoyed at the public than at herself. He knows very well that she’s aware she acted without honor, but she’s good at pretending that’s not true, and despite defending scumbags for six years, he’s never run into a real psychopath before. He’s pretty sure Dawn’s his first.

“If we put you on the stand, they’re going to ask you about Mayor Lionheart,” he tells her over his desk. She’s wearing her blue dress again and she’s gained some of the weight back. This is the third time they’ve talked about the possibility of her testifying; he doesn’t want her to, and he can’t tell if she wants to, but Hopps would probably cream herself if she got to question Dawn. Unfortunately, it’s her call, not his; he can only advise her. At least she’s experienced enough to know that it’s a very bad idea.

Dawn readjusts her glasses unnecessarily and stares at him. “What about him?”

“Well, you were friends,” he explains slowly. “At least from the outside, you were. You trailed after him everywhere he went...and at the beginning, you always had this look of...adoration on your face. As far as anyone could tell, you _idolized_ him. Maybe even loved him. They’re going to ask you how you could frame him and manipulate him after that.”

She doesn’t look fazed, not that he expected her to. Instead, she keeps her expression passive. He can’t tell if it’s intentional or if she’s just stopped pretending around him, and that makes him nervous, too. “I did like him at first. I don’t think I ever stopped liking him, even though he made me work from the boiler room and called me names. We were a lot alike, you see, and when he was a good boss, he was a good one. We had different aims, of course, and where his vision of the greater good of Zootopia was vague and idealistic, mine was much more concrete and achievable. That didn’t stop me from respecting him. Perhaps you’re right that I loved him; I never considered it. It seems trite. Framing him was just a necessary evil. While he was still in power, there was nothing I could do to influence legislation. Besides, if he was in jail, he was safe from the next steps of my plan. The quarantine was only the first step, but Jack…”

She laughs fondly and it gives Nick the chills. Not for the first time, he wonders if perhaps he’s in over his head here.

“I liked him, too. He was just _so_ eager to please, he was like clay. Framing Leo was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but using Jack to get Leo out of the way was easy. I never expected Jack to be so tenacious.” Her expression sours. “Or difficult. I misread him. No, that’s not right; I didn’t account for his girlfriend. I didn’t think a bunny would ever date a fox. How farfetched is that? A prostitute and a cop – enemies in both species and profession. It would be like you dating Miss Hopps. _That_ was my miscalculation.”

“I wasn’t aware that they were involved,” says Nick, trying not to show that she’s making him physically nauseated. He doesn’t bother to explain the difference between a prostitute and an adult film star, because she doesn’t care about nuance. Clearly.

“It’s possible they weren’t, but you saw the video. Miss Konn managed to break her own knee before the Midnicampum holicithias finished running through her system, because she wanted to protect him. Jack couldn’t bring himself to hit her. What is love, if not keeping each other safe from harm?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says truthfully. “I don’t care, either. I’m going to advise you, again, not to testify. I can’t allow you to lie on the stand, and I won’t perjure myself, but _this_ kind of thing is not going to help your case.”

“You’re right.” She smiles, and in it, he sees echoes of Hopps. Maybe it’s ambition, or maybe there’s something just as dark in the new prosecuting attorney. “I keep expecting you to break, Nick. So many mammals give up easily. They think they can handle the deepest, darkest parts of life, but they can’t. _You_ can, though. In another life – if you’d been prey, or if I’d picked another ten percent – we could have been the best of allies.”

“This is the only life we get,” he replies, steel in his voice. He’s sure she meant that to be a compliment of the highest order, but he can only be repulsed by the idea of being _bosom buddies_ with a terrorist. This is why Ruth and Jenny are angry with him. This is what he’s defending. Even so, he can’t bring himself to regret taking the case.

Maybe _that’s_ what they should be angry about instead.

* * *

Jury selection is the absolute worst. There are so many factors, all of which are important. Species, prior experience, and even the vaguest of ties to the defendant have to be discovered and considered during the voir dire, and any mistakes can make things very difficult for Nick. He has two cases going to trial now, which is unusual, and his friends were right: the stress of it _is_ making him lose fur. That’s unusual for a fox his age.

These twelve mammals that he and Gesa agreed on today will decide whether justice will be served to Autumn Fangworthy and Malcolm Coates. The twelve mammals that he and Hopps agreed on...well, they’ll probably be biased no matter what, and no matter what kind of show he puts on for them, it won’t matter. He’ll lose tomorrow, and he’s grateful for that, but even cases like these, with the scummiest of scumbags on trial for the world to see, leave him feeling bitter.

Lately, it’s less about ethics and more about professional pride. He’s not sure whether or not that’s a good thing. Every attorney gets to this point eventually, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t happen to him.

Oh God, Ruth was right. He _is_ an optimist.

“Hey,” says Jenny, rubbing his shoulders and reading the finalized list of jurors. The rubbing thing isn’t really part of her job description, but it’s nice of her to notice how stressed he’s been. She deserves a raise. He’ll have to make an offer once his jury trials are finished. “Stop stressing. You’re going to do fine.”

“It’s nice of you to say so,” he replies, closing his eyes and humming as she works out a tension kink in his neck. “Truthfully, I’m going to lose both of these. It’s fine if I do; it’s no less than either of them deserves.”

“I have no idea how you deal with the cognitive dissonance,” she admits. “How do you defend mammals you _know_ are guilty?”

“System has to work,” he says for the millionth time, wondering how anyone can not _know_ this. “Oh, _ow,_ okay, stop, that hurts. Anyway, defense is part of the system. No matter what you’ve done, you have the right to representation. Whatever my private feelings are...that’s irrelevant. What we _feel_ and what we _do_ have nothing to do with each other unless we let one influence the other. It’s called compartmentalization. Not everyone can do it. Those that can’t either scrub out of law school or go on to teach introductory courses at their nearest university.”

She snorts. “Okay, Nick, _be_ a snob if you want.”

“No, I’m serious. It’s one of the most important parts of practicing law. Knowing how it works...well, you can find everything on Zoogle if you have to. Same with the statutes, and frankly, research is a snap as long as you have a subscription to Westlaw. Doing law is more important than knowing law, and part of doing law is making sure you know how to compartmentalize.”

“So you just organize your mind? Like a spreadsheet?”

“More or less.” He shrugs and winces as he feels the kink in his neck. Jenny, as it turns out, only made it worse, but that’s not really her fault. “You’ll get used to it eventually. You’re doing great so far.”

“I...thanks,” she says softly. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”

“Am I the kind of guy who _doesn’t_ tell you when you’ve screwed up,” he asks, thinking about her first year with the firm. He may not be the type to yell at his staff, but he’s not the type to let things go, either. The amount of homework he had to give her during that first year was, honestly, _ridiculous,_ but she’s great at her job now.

“No, you’re not. That doesn’t stop me from wondering if maybe you’ve just...gotten soft, after everything.”

He rolls his eyes. “If I ever get soft, kick me off a cliff. And with that...go home, Jenny. You need sleep.”

“So do you.”

“And I’ll get it after I save these files and get out of the office, but I don’t need you for that.”

She scoffs, but answers, “Fine, then. Do you want me in the office or at the courthouse tomorrow morning?”

“Office. I need you here to train Solomon.”

“...Good luck, then.” Why does she sound upset? Jury trials, even high-profile ones like these, are boring. “I’m not rooting for you, but...you know. Good luck anyway.”

“Aww, Jenny, you _do_ care,” he snarks. Thank goodness for understanding staff.

* * *

Hopps has been staring at him with a funny expression ever since the trial began. Oh, she’s good at pretending she’s not looking at him, but he’s good at catching mammals in a lie. He’s just not sure what this lie _is._ What is she thinking? He hates not knowing. He feels like an ant under a magnifying glass. The question is whether she’s planning to burn him alive or just looking at him.

She’s probably trying to psych him out. They’ve done the song and dance, paraded witnesses in front of the jury and presented evidence. He’s argued with Dr. Madge Honey _(“Your field of expertise is infectious diseases; can you say with certainty that you were qualified to study the effects of Midnicampum holicithias?”)_ and presented Dawn as a small prey animal who was both unappreciated by and terrified of her boss. He’s twisted Bogo’s testimony to suggest to the jurors that perhaps Dawn was intimidated into doing wrong by animals far larger and more powerful than she.

None of it worked; he can tell by their faces; but he’s glad about that. He can point to his arguments and the extensive work he did on this case if anyone accuses him of not giving his all, but there’s no real danger of a “not guilty” verdict.

Hopps pulls her eyes away from him and stands before the jury, ready to make her closing statements. He’s _very_ interested in what she’s going to say; whatever her statements imply, he needs to formulate a response in real time. This is what law school is for. The housekeeping part, submitting documents and negotiating, can be done by a good paralegal. Jenny could handle a case from start to finish, with a little more training. But _this_ part is what separates the good lawyers from the bad ones. Hopps is a wildcard, having never done this before, so he’ll have to pay close attention.

“Assorted mammals of the jury,” she says crisply, flashing them a quick smile, “the past two days have been filled with evidence and testimony. You’ve been presented with expert opinions that are difficult to decipher. You’re tired physically and emotionally. I’m sure most of you just want to go home and forget about this.”

He rolls his eyes behind his paw under the guise of massaging his brow. What a little con artist. The worst thing about all of this is that her attempt at establishing rapport with the jury is _working,_ and he doesn’t want it to fail.

“The case is straightforward: as you were forced to see in Evangeline Konn’s final video, Dawn Bellwether decided that the best way to force her prey supremacist agenda was to dose predators with a mind-altering drug and wait for them to attack the mammals around them. Her final victims, the heroes of Zootopia, died trying to protect you and everyone you care about. Mr. Wilde here has indicated his opinion that the defendant was a victim herself; he may sympathize with her, or he may have been convinced by information we are not privy to, but I implore you, do not be fooled. There is no evidence to suggest that anyone made her secretly hoard and weaponize a Class III botanical, drug innocent predators, or believe that an _entire ten percent_ of our population is worth less than others. The evidence presented today ought to speak for itself, so I ask you only to consider what we have brought to the table. Thank you.”

A hot anger runs through him, under his fur – under his _skin,_ even – and through his veins. He’d thought they had some kind of...well, not a friendship, he’d never be stupid enough to think that, but he never imagined she’d go after _him._ Dawn, yes, but she seemed professional enough to leave him out of it.

Apparently not.

It’s only his familiarity with procedure that keeps him moving. The Judge’s mouth is moving, but Nick’s ears are _ringing_ with fury. He has to measure his steps and his breath in order to appear professional.

“Members of the jury,” he says to the jurors, buying a little time to put his thoughts in order as nausea threatens to overwhelm him. It doesn’t matter what he says now, but that’s not the _point._

He shouldn’t feel like she betrayed him, but God help him, he _does,_ and that’s the worst part of all.

“You have evidence in front of you, and you have a narrative. To most mammals, the Prosecution’s narrative seems clean and reasonable. The defendant, Dawn Bellwether, said certain things on a camera she was, supposedly, not aware of. She certainly admitted to terrorist actions without any noticeable coercion. However, this case is not as open and shut as it seems.” He doesn’t look at Hopps, though he’d dearly like to send a hot glare her way. “It is unreasonable to assume that one mammal thought up and implemented a plot of this magnitude. Without hearing from my client, the only narrative you _have_ is the one that Ms. Hopps spun for you, but consider _all_ of the evidence, not just the convenient pieces. There were at least two other figures lurking just outside the video, both of whom wore ZPD uniforms and one of whom was a real officer. Somehow, both of these mammals escaped custody shortly after arrest. I won’t bore you with speculation about _why._ Additionally, although you saw the defendant shoot Evangeline Konn with a blue substance, there was no reliable test for the influence of Midnicampum holicithias, so she was simply given the antidote. There is another possible reason that a known dominatrix might attack a companion. Without proof that she was drugged, we cannot reasonably assume that she was only an innocent victim. We can only extrapolate, and in a case in which the best evidence is a _video,_ it is important that we are careful when we extrapolate. As my colleague requested, please consider every piece of evidence _carefully_ and _objectively._ Thank you for your time.”

“Counsel,” says the Judge, looking at Hopps.

“The Prosecution waives the right to further argument,” she says viciously, and Nick hates her almost as much as he wants to take a shower.

* * *

As relieving as it is that the verdict was “guilty” on all counts except one – there was no way the prosecution would convince anyone that Evangeline Konn was murdered – Nick can’t bring himself to celebrate, even internally. Dawn, fortunately, doesn’t need much send-off; she’s been involved with law since _he_ was a teenager, and aside from a cursory (and entirely unnecessary, but legally required) conversation, there’s nothing left to say.

At least from his side.

“You know,” says Dawn quietly, watching out the window as Hopps is stopped by the very enthusiastic press, “you surpassed my every expectation. I’ve not made a secret of the fact that I’m not fond of predators...but you, Nick, are something else. I admire your dedication.”

“Yeah, forgive me if I don’t take that as a ringing endorsement,” he says, equally quietly. There’s no heat behind it, though. If he allows himself to be angry at her, he’ll probably get angry at Hopps again, and there isn’t time for that while he’s still in the courtroom. Nick would rather go into the office after hours and scream himself hoarse. Not that he’s ever done that before, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.

“I suppose you wouldn’t. You can at least be proud of yourself. Judy Hopps always has been a little terror, but you didn’t even blink.”

“Always? You knew her?” He frowns, considering. “Was it even legal for her to take this case?”

“Oh, I didn’t know her animally. I was already the Assistant Mayor when she got her internship with Gesa. We met once, at her graduation, but we had less of a conversation than we would have if we’d bumped into each other on the train. I did follow her career, though. She was the second prey animal in Zootopia’s history to make it to the DA’s office, and a _bunny,_ on top of that...I knew she would be vicious. I knew as soon as she took the internship that her ambition was only matched by her disregard for others.”

“How could you have predicted that?”

“Nicholas,” she says with that unsettling fondness in her voice, “I _was_ her, once upon a time. Granted, sheep have always had a much higher social status than _rabbits,_ but you have to be a special kind of ruthless to claw your way to the top when you’re a small prey mammal in a predator’s world.”

“So you’re saying she’s just like you?”

“I’ll leave it to you to make that judgment,” she says carelessly. “Oh, look, it’s the bailiff. It was nice working with you, Nicholas Wilde.”

He can’t say the same. He’d like to avoid the press, now that the case is over, but he can’t stay in the courtroom forever, so he sighs, packs up his briefcase, and exits to the atrium, where Hopps is entertaining reporters with the details of the case. The sound of her voice makes him want to break something.

“This was a difficult case for everybody,” she says, playing the cute bunny. Her smug smirk looks at home on her face – a sweet charade, he thinks venomously. On flat-faced mammals, it looks less smarmy and more hopeful. If he didn’t know better, he’d be taken in by it. “Everybody did their best, and I think this was the best possible outcome. Sure, most of Zootopia was hoping for a harsher sentence, but we proved today that the system works as intended, largely thanks to twelve upstanding mammals and the defense attorney, Nick Wilde. Without everyone doing the best they could, we might have gotten a very different verdict.”

He goes cold. Another reporter asks a question, but he can’t hear it through the ringing that once again echoes in his ears. What is her game? She _ripped him apart_ in the courtroom, _threw him under the bus_ in her closing arguments, which suggested the jury should question everything from his integrity to his motivations – she cast doubt on his _character_ – and now she’s pretending she respects him? He turns sharply and walks out of the atrium. None of the reporters will want to hear from him anyway, and he’s not sure he can look at Hopps for another second without screaming.

She really is just as bad as Dawn. The only difference is that _she_ hasn’t snapped yet.

* * *

By the time he reaches the office, he can’t decide whether he feels like yelling until his throat is raw or cry until his eyes are. He’s generally not in the habit of expressing himself, but the events of the day – of the past several months, if he’s honest – have pushed him past the edge of rationality. He hates himself, almost as much as he hates Dawn and Hopps and everyone else who’s ever played him for a fool. He’s not in the habit of indulging in self-pity, either, but he’s never had a case this hard before, so it’s not an unreasonable reaction.

To Nick’s surprise, Jenny is still in the office when he lets himself in. It’s late enough that everyone should be gone, but there she is, almost vibrating with whatever she’s feeling. When he nears his desk, she raises her paw and he flinches. “Whoa, what the hell!?”

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t smack the snot out of you after what you said about Evangeline Konn,” she says, almost at a whisper. It still sounds like gunshots in his ears. Of course she wouldn’t have taken that well.

“It was the best thing for the case,” he says, trying to sound soothing even though he’s wondering if he should fire her right here and now. This is incredibly unprofessional. “My case. _Our_ case. I acted in my capacity as a defense attorney, as I promised I would. As I always do.”

But he feels like scat about it anyway, and for a bright minute, he hopes she _will_ slap him. Maybe make him bleed with the claws she never blunts. It wouldn’t be much of a penance, but it would be something.

“I can’t even _believe..._ why would you…” Jenny’s paw shakes, and she doesn’t smack him after all, but after today, Nick is sure he doesn’t deserve that mercy. Her eyes well up and, despite furious blinking on her part, the tears fall. “I thought you were different. I really thought you’d – I don’t know what I thought you’d do. You’re the consummate lawyer, and I’m not blind to that. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just threatened you. It’s not your fault I’m just a stupid vixen who can’t handle the pressure.”

“That _was_ inappropriate, but you are _not_ stupid,” he says sharply. “You have a good head on your shoulders and you’re the best damn case manager I’ve ever had. You churn out court docs like you were born to do it. Stupid mammals can’t do that. You’ve gone above and beyond in a lot of our cases.”

“So I’m a competent paralegal. Whoo,” she says bitterly.

“Is that not enough?”

Angrily, she counters, “Is that really all that matters to you?”

He gapes at her, confused, and she looks so vulnerable it makes him vicariously uncomfortable. “What – what else is supposed to matter? I’m telling you you’re not stupid-”

“And the flirting with me? The...the late nights we spent together? Letting me rub your shoulders? All that was professional behavior?”

“What flirting,” he asks warily. This is going south very quickly, and he’s not sure why. “When did I flirt? Late nights are _normal_ in law, you’re going to find that everywhere you work, and I swear to you I never meant to give you the wrong impression, and-”

“Are you seriously _panicking_ right now?” At least her tears are mostly dried now, but the anger is still there. “Am I so repulsive that you panic at the thought of us together?”

“You’re not repulsive, Jenny.” He takes a deep breath – because yes, he was beginning to panic, and he doesn’t want to make the situation worse – and continues, “I have never looked at any of my staff with anything other than a professional eye. It’s not anything you are or are not, nor is it anything you did or didn’t do. And I really am sorry that what I said in court hurt you, but I had to say it. _Not_ saying it would mean I _didn’t do my job,_ and it wouldn’t change the outcome, but you heard what Hopps said to the press. It was imperative that I-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the best defense attorney ever and you won the undying approval of _Judy Hopps.”_ Now her tone is downright venomous. “I lost to a rutting _bunny_ and she probably doesn’t even know it.”

“Lost…? There was nothing to lose, Jenny, except the case, which is over now.”

She blinks up at him, expression going from angry to incredulous to sad in a matter of seconds. Her shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’m angry, and I’m jumping all over the place, and my feelings aren’t your problem. Um. But I can’t...I can’t do this anymore. Not just because I really like you, apparently _way_ more than you like me, but because you take cases I’m not comfortable with, and I’m tired of going home with knots in my stomach. You’ve been a great boss, even though you’re demanding and obnoxious and lazy and you never noticed that I’m head over heels for you. You should put out an ad for a new case manager. I’ll stay on long enough to train them, but I think it’s time I move on, before I make everything worse.”

He feels a sense of loss. Jenny has been with him for three years now, and he’s not sure he can make it without her. But she’s right. Now that he’s aware of how she feels, things are going to be stilted and awkward. And he needs a case manager who will actively work on cases with him despite feeling uncomfortable with the subject matter. She’s good at her job, but…

“Maybe you’re right. For what it’s worth, you’re the best case manager I’ve had, and it was a joy to see you learn and grow like you did.”

“Yeah, don’t say stuff like that. You sound like my dad,” she tells him, offering a tiny smile.

He smiles back and still feels like a douchebag.

* * *

“Hey, Mom, it’s me again,” he says into the phone, trying not to despair. He hasn’t been able to get hold of Ruth since the Bellwether case ended. “I guess you still need more time. I, uh, I found a new blend of raspberry tea I think you’ll like. Call me if you...yeah. Call me.”

He ends the call and pretends it doesn’t bother him. Even if he weren’t in the middle of the Happytown Market trying to price check two kinds of different-quality rice noodles, he wouldn’t want this to get him down. This isn’t the first time she’s stopped talking to him, and if they ever make up, she’ll probably shut him out for a different reason sooner or later. She’s very hard to like, but she’s his mother, so he loves her anyway.

“Hi there, Mr. Wilde,” chirps a familiar voice from behind him, and he turns to look at Judy Hopps. He hasn’t seen her since their chance meeting at the Fanged Barrel the day after Dawn Bellwether’s sentencing. That has to have been a month ago now. She’s in her work clothes again, the outdated skirt suit clinging to her hips and accentuating her slim shoulders, but she’s also carrying a melon the size of her head in the crook of one arm and a full basket of groceries in her other paw. Not as fragile as she looks.

He’s not angry anymore. Hasn’t been, really, since their meeting at the bar. With time and distance, he was able to look at the situation rationally; he’d have done the same thing in her position. At least she had the grace to make him look good in her little statement to the press. A lesser attorney would have taken the opportunity to make him look bad and trash his reputation.

(He actually rather admires her, when he thinks about it. She could have ridden the wave of positive opinion, but instead, she’s been very quiet, and she hasn’t prodded any old wounds. As far as he’s concerned, they should be square now. It’s okay to talk to her.)

“Oh, hello, Ms. Hopps,” he replies, trying to figure out why on Earth she’s got ten bags of turkey jerky in her basket. She stops in her tracks, nose twitching, as he frowns at the mystery. Is he really that intimidating outside of work hours?

“I’m sorry, I’m bothering you again,” she concludes. Wrongly, but she clearly believes it. “I keep doing that, I don’t know when I’m not welcome. I’ll just, uh…”

“No, no, it’s okay. I just can’t figure out why you’re buying turkey jerky.” Is it just him, or is the air getting unreasonably heavy? “Kind of a weird item for a bunny to buy.”

“Ah, yeah, my neighbor’s cubs come over some evenings, and I like to have snacks for them,” she says, visibly relaxing.

 _I lost to a rutting bunny,_ Jenny says in his head, and maybe she’s right. Not in the way she suggested when she quit, but Nick doesn’t usually care whether or not mammals think well of him, and he’s glad Hopps isn’t afraid of him. The Bellwether case really messed him up, and his unreasonably high opinion of Hopps is a side effect. He’s not sure what to do with that.

“That’s...that’s good. Nice. How’s…” He falters. Nick rarely loses words, and when he does, it’s always because someone’s got the better of him. Except, apparently, now. They aren’t adversaries any longer, at least not until the next time they have to go head to head in court. He thinks about her shark grin and swallows heavily. “Are you still working at the DA’s office?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, beaming. “They even gave me my own profile on the server, so I finally have an email address! That would’ve been nice during our case together, but...uh, well, anyway, Ms. Klaue was happy with my work, and she promised me I could have more responsibilities, so that’s good.”

“You didn’t have a profile? Or an email address?” Nick blinks, confusion overriding whatever that heaviness was. “How did you _function?”_

“I mean, they mostly had me running coffee and taking notes anyway. I got to answer phones for a few weeks when Kelly went on maternity leave.” She looks down, looking guilty. “I know it’s normal for a newbie to feel a little useless, but-”

“No,” he tells her, suddenly understanding why she did all the work on the Bellwether case herself. It wasn't that she was a control freak. Were they really setting her up to fail on a _terrorist_ case? Well, in a sense, the case didn’t matter; there was no way it could fail, regardless of who prosecuted. Nick has the urge to set her straight, because if there's one thing he can't abide, it’s speciesism in the workplace. Well, that and corruption in law. This is kind of both. “That’s...not normal. At all. They shouldn’t be treating you like that. My staff get their profiles within three days of getting hired. The job isn’t really doable otherwise. It sounds to me like they were hoping you’d get fed up and quit.”

That’s an educated guess, heavy emphasis on the _educated._ Criminal law is a predator’s world, and while it’s not impossible to find a prey attorney handling a criminal case on the defense side of things, it’s still rare. A bunny prosecutor would piss off a lot of mammals. Most of them would be rooting against her just because of her species, and the fact that she’s stayed this long speaks to her character.

Her shoulders slump. “Oh. I thought maybe I was imagining that.”

“You could probably sue for workplace discrimination,” he offers as a weak joke in place of actual advice.

“No, I’m happy to have a job at all. I applied everywhere. Nobody thought a bunny could do anything useful, but Ms. Klaue’s office was in dire need of a diversity hire, so…” She shrugs. “It’s my dream to be a prosecutor. If it were anybody else I’d be raising a fuss on their behalf, but I don’t want to make waves if it means losing out on the chance.”

As if by mutual decision, Nick and Hopps begin walking again. The produce section is his favorite place; it’s the only place in the supermarket where the smell of unwashed mammal is less potent than the smell of the food, and in this part of town, it’s not a very crowded section to begin with.

Speaking of which…

“Why are you shopping in Happytown?”

She looks at him sideways, a tiny, much more genuine smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “As opposed to where? If I shopped in another district, I’d have to spend at least half an hour on the train both ways, but my apartment is just around the corner. And, uh, the veggie selection is better in the Meadows, but I don’t really feel safe there.”

“You don’t feel safe...in a community of bunnies and other small mammals.” He raises an eyebrow. “How does that work?”

“Well, you know, I’m alone,” she tells him awkwardly, examining a grape display like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “It’s not like I’ve ever been...um, physically threatened or anything, but I don’t like the way they talk to me. Or about me. And the Meadows has a practically nonexistent selection of stuff that tigers can eat, so I’d still have to stop somewhere for snacks for Melody and Davey. And I can’t cook very well, so it doesn’t matter where I shop; mostly I just eat takeout anyway. Um. Why are you shopping here? Wait, your office is close by, never mind, I’m just going to stop talking now. Oh, cripes, please don’t tell anyone I just babbled like an idiot. I’ll never get another case again.”

He tries not to laugh at her fumbling. She might be a shark in court, but she’s a little garter snake outside of it. “Don’t worry, Carrots, it’ll be our little secret.”

“Don’t call me Carrots,” she replies, but she’s smiling a little anyway.

* * *

When Nick gets up from his middle of the night bathroom run, his phone’s flashing obnoxiously. He doubts he’ll be able to sleep until it stops, so he checks his notifications and finds that he has a text.

_It’s me, Judy Hopps!_

Nick blinks through the lethargy and tries to make sense of the text. Why would Judy Hopps be texting him at – oh, _cripes –_ two in the morning? They haven’t spoken at all since they accidentally ran into each other at the grocery store, and why would they?

_I’m aware._

_I thought of a joke. What_  
_has 1 eye and makes criminals_  
_wish they’d run faster?_

_A cyclops in a jail?_

_Haha, no. The Purranda_  
_warning._

_That’s not a good joke._

_Because if you say it instead of_  
_writing it_

_The “I” in warning is like “eye”_

_Oh you’re right it isn’t a good_  
_joke. OR IS IT._

_Are you on something?_

_I’m on a ROLL!_

_What are you talking about? Do_  
_you need a ride somewhere?_

_The hospital? Rehab?_

_Are you the bar exam?_

_Because I want to…_

_Wait for it…_

_Take you on a desk._

_What the hell?_

_Sorry, I meant_

_STUDY YOU FOR WEEKS_

_and then beat you into_  
_submission!!_

_Oh my God_

_That one was a good one._

_No, no it wasn’t._

_You’re no fun._

_I think you’re drunk,_  
_Carrots._

Nick waits for a reply, but he doesn’t get one, and eventually he drifts off, wondering what she’s thinking. Hoping she’s all right. It’s none of his business; they’re not even colleagues; but yeah, okay, that last one _was_ a little funny. He wakes up early and doesn’t remember the weird conversation, at least, until he reads the messages waiting in his inbox.

_CARROTS!?_

_I met a different Nick in the Barrel_

_Those messages were so_  
_inappropriate_

 _Your contact has been updated_  
_to Nick Wilde to avoid future_  
_mistakes._

_Please don’t think I’m creepy._

He laughs and considers giving her hell for it. He doesn’t remember the last time he picked up a vixen in a bar – Margaret didn’t last very long anyway – but he’s sure he was just as silly at her age. You’re only young once, right? She deserves a pass just this once.

 _No problem. But maybe next_  
_time don’t drink so much._

 _I don’t think I’d be able to_  
_represent you in a DUI case._

Well, that’s this year’s good deed out of the way. Time to go make the world a more ordered place, one stupid prick at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering what meeting between Nick and Judy is referenced at the end of this, I wrote another oneshot called "Closure" about Nick and Judy running into each other the day after Dawn's sentencing. It takes place the day after Jenny quits and a month before the scene at the grocery store.
> 
> I'm aware that my interpretation of Dawn probably won't be popular, but guys, I hate her so much. There really isn't anything redeemable about her. Nick deserves all the nice things and Dawn deserves all the bad things. Ugggghhhh she's awful.


End file.
